


Fire & Ice

by Eden Marie Dawson (GodDamnedPlums)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Eventual Fluff, F/M, M/M, SubDean, domGabriel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodDamnedPlums/pseuds/Eden%20Marie%20Dawson
Summary: This wasn't the type of thing that Dean usually did, but he could blame it on the amount of booze that he'd devoured in the morning when all of this came crashing down on his head, along with what he was sure to be the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. Right now, he couldn't care less.
(In which Dean finds Gabriel's number scrawled beneath a very cryptic message on the back of a bathroom stall door.)
**I'm not really good with summaries.**





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyPoly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPoly/gifts).



This wasn't the type of thing that Dean usually did, but he could blame it on the amount of booze that he'd devoured in the morning when all of this came crashing down on his head, along with what he was sure to be the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. Right now, he couldn't care less. His head was fuzzy, caught somewhere between that drunken haze and blissful slumber that never failed to reach him after a successful drinking binge, and that's why, he assumed, he was still perched on the toilet seat in the bathroom of the bar, jeans pulled halfway down his thighs. He'd forgotten to undo both his belt and the button, causing the already tighter than he would ever admit fabric to bunch together at the center of his muscular thighs. He was crouched over, fingers fumbling over the belt buckle when he'd caught the glimpse of grafitti on the back of the stall door. What ever possessed him to give up the game of trying to free his legs from his pants so that he could finally piss out the shit ton of beer he'd downed in the hour before and sit down on the filthy toilet seat so he could read the various messages was still a mystery to him. Most of the messages had made him laugh; there were the typical "for a good time call" messages and then the practically mandatory crude drawings and phrases etched into the plastic coating on the door. One message in particular caught Dean's attention, because of the silvery-glint to the words and the way that the message had been scrawled in a beautiful, loopy script instead of brashly carved into the door.

_"Like fire and ice_  
Our union be damned  
Reach out to this number  
If you wish to partake in your dreamland" 

Dean's brain was way too fuzzy to comprehend what the hell "partake in your dreamland" meant, but he still found his fingers fumbling against the buttons on his cell phone, keying in the number that was written beneath the message. He pressed the phone to his ear, half-tempted to just slam the phone shut and go back to his prior commitment, because, oh yeah, he still needed to fucking piss. On the third ring there was the audible click, signaling that someone had answered the phone, but Dean waited on bated breath for some kind of introduction from the other end of the phone. He was met only with the soft sound of someone seemingly tapping their nails against a hard surface.

"Uh...I got this number from..."

"I am well aware of where you are calling from," the voice was deep, masculine but also smooth and sultry. Dean repressed a shiver. "State your name and business, quickly, before I grow bored."

He knew he had to speak quickly, because for some reason, he didn't want that voice to ever leave. Another thing he would blame on the booze.

"Dean. I'm Dean Winchester." Fuck. Why had he told him his real name? Sam was going to kill him. ....If he ever made it back to the motel room. He was pretty sure his bladder was going to explode and that'd be the end of him right there. He tried holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, but that was just plain uncomfortable, and for the life of him he couldn't find the speaker button on his keypad. "I wanted to know..."

"What the poem means?" A chuckle followed the words.

"Damn it, stop finishing my sentences!"

A slight huff sounded from the other end of the phone and Dean felt his throat closing slightly. "Wait!" He mananged to squeak the word out, sounding a tinge more desperate than he would've ever liked to admit. There was a slight pause, followed by the rhythmic tapping of those nails again.

"I want to know what the p-poem means." He didn't stutter. He didn't, it was just the alcohol affecting him. Shit. He never should have come out tonight.

"Hmm...." Dean found himself sitting on the edge of the toilet, balancing dangerously between sitting somewhat comfortably and leaning too far forward that he'd wind up crashing into the, stupidly still unlocked, stall door. "Well, tell you what Kiddo. I'm going to text you an address and if you still feel like you want to know what the poem means when you're not shit-faced drunk and dialing random strangers in the bathroom stalls at skeevy bars, you come find me. I'll be waiting."

The line went dead before Dean had the chance to ask him why he had put his number on the back of the stall if he hadn't intended on drunk people calling him up. He stared down at his phone for a moment, contemplating calling him back, when he heard the bathroom door slam open. No sense in making a fool of himself when someone else was around to hear him. He managed to slide his phone back into his jean pocket, hands returning to the belt buckle.

He was fighting a losing battle when the stall door swung open, the flicking fluroescent light blocked out by the large stature of his younger brother's body. He looked up into familiar hazel eyes that held a mixture of pity and relief. "Sammy! You gotta help me man, I'm gonna die! Death by belt buckle!"

Sam would have laughed if he hadn't been so damn frustrated. He'd been to every bar in the city looking for Dean, knowing that after their fight that he'd go to one of them and end up on a drinking binge before he ultimately ended up in someone's bed. He was relieved to find that he'd found him before he'd fallen into the wave of lust that followed after each binge. It would have been a lot harder to locate him if he'd gone off with some woman, and after the last scare that Sam had, when Dean had been so drunk he nearly fell into the arms of a succubus, he wasn't letting it happen again any time soon.

"You're hopless, Dean..." He muttered, dropping to one knee on the dingy tile floor and batting his hands away. Dean settled back against the toilet bowl lid and let Sam's fingers deftly work open the belt buckle. "You've held it this long, you bastard, so you'd best hold it long enough for me to get out of here. You piss on me and I'm dunking your head in that toilet."

Dean offered a lopsided grin, clearly wanting to retort but being too far gone to come up with one on the spot that involved more than a laugh at Sam's statement. Sam managed to get his jeans shoved down to his ankles and backed out of the stall for Dean to finish what he'd originally stumbled in there to do.

A short time later, Sam was practically carrying Dean through the bar and out to the impala. He'd hotwired a car from the motel parking lot, since Dean had driven off in Baby when he'd stormed off after calling Sam a list of names that he'd prefer never to think about again. He'd wiped the prints off of everything he could think of, so he couldn't be traced back to the car if, and when, someone had reported it stolen. "Alright, De, in you go. You can sleep this off tonight and tomorrow we'll get back on the case."

"No can do, Sammy," Dean collapsed in the back seat, groaning as he stretched out against the cool vinyl. "Got a prior engagement. I think."

"You think?" Sam quirked an eyebrow as he started the engine and pulled back out onto the highway to head back to the motel. Another rundown room in another nameless town surrounded by a bunch of faceless people. They'd been doing this for years, and neither one of them were getting any younger. Sam often found himself wondering when or if they'd ever settle down, cut back on their hunting to a more localized level like normal hunters, but Dean had always scoffed in his face about it. It was actually the cause of the biggest fight they'd had in years, which landed them in the situation they were in now.

"Yeah, gotta go to this house if I decide I wanna tomorrow." He held up his phone, hand wavering as his arm protested the movement. Sam rolled his eyes, but kept his focus on the road. "Sure, De, whatever you say."

"Damn right whatever I say," Dean huffed as he turned over onto his right side, facing the back seat to his beloved Baby. He folded his arms beneath his head and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible, though with how close he was to being lulled into those sweet, dark depths of sleep, it wouldn't have mattered to him if he'd been laying on a bed of cactus needles. He heard the sound of Sam trying to find something that he deemed decent in his cassette collection, but both that and the gentle roar of Baby's engine as she coasted down the highway were no match for the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears as the words of his earlier phonecall played over in his mind.

_I'll be waiting._


End file.
